


Try

by ms_nawilla



Series: Try [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Knighthood, Life Milestones, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 11:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_nawilla/pseuds/ms_nawilla
Summary: A knight's first mission is a time for letting go, for both master and apprentice.





	Try

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from "I Can't Stop Loving You" by Billy Nicholls, appearing on Phil Collins's album "Testify." Was originally posted on master-apprentice in the early 2000's.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEnUhjmwjlI
> 
> Another series I am rescuing from fic obscurity.

_So you're leaving_   
_In the morning_   
_On the early train_

Qui-Gon leaned on the doorframe and stared at the small form huddled on the bed. His young apprentice rolled over in his sleep, murmured something about not throwing the droid away and waved his arms. A calming touch to his mind, a bit less subtle than what he was accustomed to sending, and the boy settled again, his dreams more at peace. The master sighed silently as the boy's breathing slipped into the Temple's peaceful night rhythms. With the child huddled into a ball under several extra blankets to ward off the temperate climate, his form difficult to make out, it wasn't hard to let his imagination fill in and skew the details in the dim light. The picture painted by the shadows in his mind was almost perfect. Almost like it used to be. He leaned more heavily against the jamb and resisted the urge to rub his aching chest. It would only cause his loved ones more worry they didn't need, particularly tonight.

"Are you alright, Master?" Too late.

He closed his eyes, listening to the soft voice behind him. A voice so familiar, a voice that had been a near-constant presence in his life for more than a decade. A voice he loved, one he loved deeply. One he loved more than any other if he were forced to admit it. Not that he would. He focused on the scene before him, on the sleeping boy, immersing himself in the image, before he turned, a wistful smile on his face.

_I could say everything's alright_   
_I could pretend and say good bye_

"I'm just remembering, Obi-Wan," he looked down at the youth, his beautiful boy grown into a man. His apprentice now knighted. A promising, shining light about to be unleashed on galaxy under threat of darkness. Force-strong, and a force to be reckoned with in his own right.

The Sith had certainly learned that the hard way.

He shuddered slightly at the thought of the terrible demon that had nearly stolen his life; Obi-Wan noticed instantly, his eyes flashing in alarm.

"Master?" he whispered fiercely as he clutched at Qui-Gon's arm, ready to catch the older man should he stumble. "Why don't you go to bed Master? I'll finish up in here and make sure Anakin stays asleep." Obi-Wan spared the young boy on the bed a glance before his anxious eyes returned to Qui-Gon's. While Qui-Gon was perhaps overly concerned with the usual dreams and occasional nightmares of a child in an unfamiliar place, Obi-Wan's mind was only on his master. Or rather his former master, which was where it definitely should not be.

"I'm fine, Obi-Wan." He forced himself to smile reassuringly, but the young man was not convinced, his skeptical look plain to read. "I'm just a bit cold and tired," he admitted at last, continuing when his former apprentice moved to resume his argument that the master should retire. "But I'm not ready to sleep yet, and you have other things you should be doing."

The new knight looked him over, as if not quite believing his own master, but decided to compromise instead by forcibly leading his stubborn old cabra of a mentor to his favorite chair and carefully shoving him into it. Qui-Gon looked up at him, bemused, as Obi-Wan fussed, wrapping his shoulders in a blanket.

"This isn't what I meant by other things, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I know, but all I have left to do is to try to sleep."

"Try?"

_got your ticket_   
_got your suitcase_   
_got your leaving smile_

"There is no try, yes I know." He shrugged and smiled, a bit self-deprecatingly. "Alright, I'll attempt sleep. Or will sleep. Or won't sleep." Qui-Gon watched the young man pace a bit in his pajamas, making up the common room couch as he did. His belongings were all packed, in boxes and travel bags, waiting for a ship and a room not available until the morning. With a sigh, this time at himself, Obi-Wan sat down on his makeshift bed and looked up at his master, then grinned at him wryly, the expression clearly forced, despite his efforts to make it seem otherwise. "It's the night before my first solo mission as a knight. And I'm leaving you here to heal with a precocious child with a greater talent for inducing heart attacks in his caregivers than even I had. Sleep should be easy, shouldn't it?"

_I could say that's the way it goes_   
_I could pretend and you won't know_   
_that I was lying_

He chuckled, maintaining his façade much more easily than the youth before him, but then, he had had many more years of practice. "No, Obi-Wan, sleep might well not come easily. It isn't every day that one is a knight on the eve of his first mission." He failed to mention Obi-Wan's other anxieties. Now was not the time for the young Jedi to focus on his former master's medical status. For once he hoped the young man wouldn't focus on the 'here and now,' but on the future instead. He could tell his leaving would be difficult enough without dwelling on what he was leaving behind.

"It isn't that unusual for young knights to be apprehensive about their first missions, Obi-Wan."

"I'm not apprehensive, exactly," Obi-Wan shrugged, running one bare foot up and down along the rug, the fidgeting motion and his preference for large sleepwear making him look painfully small and young in the dim nightlights of the apartment. "I just . . ." He frowned, not sure how to explain himself. "I just, . . it just feels like I'm suddenly a knight, and . . . and part of me just wants to start my apprenticeship all over again." He ducked his head, staring at his toes.

Qui-Gon looked back at him in concern. "Start over?" Was Obi-Wan unsatisfied with his training? Did he feel it was incomplete somehow?

Obi-Wan shrugged again, and spoke carefully, as if afraid his voice was going to crack. "It was the best time of my life, Master." He lifted his head, carefully not looking at Qui-Gon as he turned to face the unending air traffic outside. "It's hard to end that."

Qui-Gon could just make out Obi-Wan blinking rapidly as his own vision blurred with tears. His own feelings for this bright young man were making this difficult, but with the knight's own doubts, it was taking all of his will not to just take him into his arms, to reassure him that he would always have a place here in his master's life and heart should he want it. But he couldn't. That wasn't what Obi-Wan needed right now. He needed time and room to grow. To be someone else. To be someone who wasn't just Qui-Gon Jinn's apprentice, but to be himself, Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi.

But how he wanted to.

_cause I can't stop loving you_

"Do you want some help going to sleep?" he finally asked when his vision cleared.

Obi-Wan suddenly turned to face him, still blinking too bright eyes. "Help?"

He smiled at the young man's expression, half bewildered, half wounded dignity that his master would need to help him like a child suffering bad dreams, and this time the smile was genuine. "You're not the only one who has been having trouble sleeping Obi-Wan. I was going to make some warm milk if you want some."

"I can do that for you, Master," he rose to go to the kitchen, but Qui-Gon raised a hand to stop him, a kind expression on his face.

_I can't stop loving you_

"I did not ask you to do it for me, Obi-Wan." His heart screamed at him to hold his tongue and to let his apprentice take care of him on their last night together, while his head reminded him that he should cut the apron strings cleanly . . no matter that both of them seemed to wear the apron in their relationship. "I am not so feeble that I can't warm my own mug of milk." Slowly he got to his feet. "I am going to get some. Do you want any?" he asked again.

Obi-Wan sat down and drew his feet up, adopting a cross-legged meditation pose. "No, thank you Master. I'll . . try to quiet my mind with the Force instead." Qui-Gon nodded and headed into the kitchen.

Trying carefully not to think about this last night together, Qui-Gon poured a mug's worth of milk into a pan and turned on the heat beneath it. He could have put it into the photon oven, or if he were feeling more serene and not still on painkillers, used the Force to warm it up. But Obi-Wan was trying to meditate and find peace within himself, and coming right back out after a minute or two would only disrupt him. Besides, the photon oven always left the milk with a skin on top.

Or so he told himself.

Ten minutes later he clicked off the kitchen light, his mug poured and cooling to a palatable temperature, and went back out to the common room. Obi-Wan had finished his meditation, or more likely given up, and was now laying down, blankets drawn up to his hips and facing the back of the couch. He had arranged himself in a restful pose, but the tension in his back and shoulders betrayed him.

It was too much. He had to let him go, he knew he had too. But not like this. Not without a kind word and reassurance, even if he couldn't tell him everything.

Even if he couldn't tell him of his love.

Carefully, he pulled up a chair with the Force and sat down near Obi-Wan's head. His apprentice had flinched when the chair moved, biting back an offer to do it for him as he was unsuccessfully pretending to be asleep.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sipped at his milk. As the warmth began to relax his mind, he reached out as he had earlier to Anakin, trying to soothe this much older boy into rest as he had done so often in years past. Obi-Wan shifted on his pillow but didn't turn to face him. Still not saying a word, the master reached out to run his hand through the knight's hair, just starting to grow out of its padawan cut. The young man stilled, closing his eyes in the darkness, but still did not move or turn over.

"I'll miss you, you know."

His hand drifted down to Obi-Wan's shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze. "I know." He began to rub the young man's back as he had done when his apprentice had been a young boy, sick or distraught. Obi-Wan settled down a bit more, the tension starting to leave him as his eyes drifted closed for longer and longer intervals. Qui-Gon continued to sip at his milk and rub his back until long after the knight finally fell asleep. His milk almost gone and now cold, he stood up, wincing at creaking joints, and put his mug in the sink for morning. On his way back to his room, he turned and looked back at Obi-Wan, curled up on the couch, so much like he had been as a boy. So much like Anakin was now.

But Anakin was not Obi-Wan and never could be.

_no, I can't stop loving you  
though I try_

"I'll miss you too, Padawan." Quiet as deep space, he took to his bed and fell into his own restful slumber.

_took a taxi_   
_to the station_   
_not a word was said_

Breakfast the next morning was a quiet affair, just after dawn. Obi-Wan fried the eggs, while Qui-Gon buttered the toast and steeped the tea. With Anakin still asleep in the padawan's room, it was almost like it always had been, an early morning meal before setting out on a mission. Soon they would swallow the last of their repast, shrug into their cloaks, shoulder their gear and head out for the stars.

Except they wouldn't. Obi-Wan would head out for the spaceport, and Qui-Gon would return home alone. It was the way of things, but that didn't make it any easier or less painful.

The comm chimed, breaking the silence, letting them know that the air taxi was waiting for them several levels up. Normally they would just take the public transports; in fact, Obi-Wan had intended to do just that until Qui-Gon announced he would see him off and wouldn't take any arguments. Unable to dissuade him, and not really wanting to, the young knight had scheduled the ride, being equally stubborn about not letting Qui-Gon navigate the jostling air tram system in his condition as his master was about not sending him off alone.

Qui-Gon turned off the chime before it could disturb Anakin, then allowed Obi-Wan to help him put on his robe. Mace met them at their door with a silent nod, then settled into the common room so Ani would not wake up alone and decide to dismantle something in his master's absence. After handing the stern babysitter a note about his apprentice's breakfast preferences and first morning class, Qui-Gon followed Obi-Wan silently out the door and to the lifts. Normally they would simply take the stairs, but the young knight was not about to allow the walking wounded to overtax themselves. Nor, apparently was he going to let him master take his other bag either, though Qui-Gon tried to slyly free him of it. The master groused at this, but let it go. He would not spoil this precious time for anything.

And precious time it was. Try as he might to hold onto the moment, to live here in these last minutes together, the seconds continued to slip away like fine Tattooine sand. Obi-Wan looked nervous, but with their training bond fading he could not be sure if the young man was worrying about the mission ahead or the master's health. Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of his still rather pale complexion in the doors of the lift as they opened and found he couldn't blame the knight in either case.

Their driver was a Dug, his specie's talents in pod-racing making them equally suited to the high speed transit of the Coruscant air lanes. He grumbled something about getting moving if the Jedi wanted to be on time, and opened the door for Qui-Gon while Obi-Wan coded his credits into the taxi's computer. Another moment and they were both in the cabin, the noise of the world shut out and that much closer to the last of their time together. Qui-Gon closed his eyes as the small aircraft lifted off and plunged into the lane. He desperately wanted to . . to scream and rage at the universe, to confess his deepest secret love, to take Obi-Wan in his arms and kiss him until he was breathless and gasping.

But mostly, he felt like crying. Not that he would. Not for all the worlds in the galaxy.

Obi-Wan stared silently straight ahead, carefully not looking at his former master. The taxi stopped and the Dug grumbled at the traffic signaling droids as the engines idled. Qui-Gon centered his focus, keeping his mind here in this moment, blocking out everything and everyone outside the small passenger cabin, and opened himself solely to Obi-Wan, drinking in his presence, feeling him on a level he quite likely never would again. Already it paled to what he had been accustomed to when the young knight was his apprentice. He clenched his eyes more tightly as Obi-Wan reached out and took his hand and squeezed it gently in his own gesture of support.

He would not let his precious one see him cry. Nor let him see this love.

_I saw you walk across the road  
maybe the last time, I don't know_

Eventually the air taxi stopped at a landing bay, adjacent to a walkway to the spaceport. With a final squeeze, Obi-Wan reluctantly let go of his hand and stepped outside of the taxi. A chill morning breeze came in behind him, and Qui-Gon shuddered. He tried to tell himself it was only because Obi-Wan's uncharacteristically sweaty palms had left his hand damp and cold. Taking care not to analyze his reactions further, he got out on his own side and came around to stand next to the knight, settling up with the Dug and gathering his bags. With the sharp wind and the buzzing traffic, even at this hour, it was not difficult to block out the conversation. Was this the last moment? He banished the thought, living in it desperately as he committed the young man to his memory. The early dawn shone brightly in his hair, brightening it to a flame, or a halo. His skin was warm and smooth, marred only by the crease between his brows as he argued with their driver. He tried not to blink.

The Dug finally nodded and climbed back into his vehicle. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, not wanting to see, as if not seeing it would prevent it from happening. The wind in his ears turned all sounds to a dull, senseless roar and the sour smell of fuel cell exhaust filled his nose. He clung to the image in his mind's eye.

Suddenly he found his arms full of Obi-Wan. The young man clung to him fiercely, the scent of his hair chasing away the odors of industry, the strength of his well-trained body wrapping the master in bittersweet warmth. There was something hot and wet on his neck, but he couldn't tell if it was Obi-Wan crying or himself. Maybe it was both.

And then he was gone.

After a long moment Qui-Gon opened his eyes. Obi-Wan was on the walkway, headed toward the terminal to await his transport to the rim, his bags in hand, facing his future. Unbidden, Shmi's last words to Ani came to his mind:  _don't look back._  Anakin had.

Obi-Wan didn't.

_feeling humble_   
_I heard a rumble_   
_on the railway track_

A low roar filled the air as a spaceship's engines powered up. First transport after daybreak, headed for one of the major hubs of the galaxy where Obi-Wan would assume a new identity and head out the Outer Rim and his mission. Where Obi-Wan could not watch his back. Where he could not watch Obi-Wan's.

He would be boarding now.

_and when I hear the whistle blow_   
_I walk away and you don't know_   
_that I was lying_

Qui-Gon continued to watch the port, air taxi forgotten, as one ship came to life, running light's flashing, and its air horn sounded, deep and mournful. The landing crew and droids scrambled away as the ship backed out and began to rise, gleaming as it turned away from the rising sun and sailed off into the violet darkness of still night on the horizon. The master, tears slipping down his cheeks and into his beard, stared after it, still feeling for it, until with a faint, tearing pull at the remains of a once unshakable bond the ship entered hyperspace.

At last, his beloved apprentice was a knight.

And he was alone.

Slowly, he turned away from the now-lightening clouds the ship had disappeared into and began to walk. His conscious mind didn't care where, though his legs automatically drew him toward the Temple and the meager comforts offered there, even amongst the painful reminders.

_cause I can't stop loving you_

Obi-Wan was gone. The beautiful boy who had washed away the stain of Xanatos from his heart. The fiery teenager who had grumbled about his master's numerous pathetic life forms, but still volunteered his time tutoring disabled children and told his master he was out with friends. The young man who had slain the Sith that would be his master's murderer, then refused to let his master die.

_no, I can't stop loving you_

He paused at an intersection. To the left was a stairwell down to the next level. He could reach the Temple there by walking the better part of an hour. He needed the hour but didn't know if he could take the walking. To the right was an escalating stair to a public tram stop. Knowing the transportation system and his own inability to navigate it, it might take him longer to reach home that way then on foot. He stood for a moment, struggling to gain his composure and make a decision. A loud air car horn sounded in front of him. He looked up, startled to be face to face with the Dug who had driven them earlier, now leaning out of his taxi and over the platform.

"I don't need a ride, thank you." He tried to sound at least marginally polite, but his voice was rougher than he intended.

The Dug, not intimidated by even this large customer, spit into the gap between the ship and the platform, idly watching the gob speed toward the lower levels, then looked up at the master. "Fare is already paid. Two to port, one to return."

Qui-Gon closed his eyes. He should have known Obi-Wan wouldn't let his over-protectiveness lapse for the simple reason that he was no longer on the same planet as his master. He opened his eyes to see the driver quietly polishing his windshield, as unperturbed by the wait as he had been trailing the Jedi across the landing park. "If you have already been paid for transport, why are you following me?" he snapped at last.

The Dug shrugged as he shook the dust from his rag. "Young Jedi paid for that too." Qui-Gon sighed, the sound nearly a sob, and the driver lowered the boarding ramp, allowing the master to climb into the air taxi once more. Wordlessly, he closed the door and passed a large container of facial tissues into the passenger cabin before he rejoined the rapidly filling sky lanes. "Is alright to cry Old Jedi. Been driving them new knights for years. You Old Jedi always cry. I never tell."

Qui-Gon cried.

_I can't stop loving you  
though I try_

Obi-Wan must have paid the Dug a small fortune because the driver circled through the shining buildings of Coruscant's textile district for hours, making small talk to himself about the many colored flags, banners and streamers while Qui-Gon continued to cry. It was late morning before the small air taxi came in sight of the Temple after the master's tears stopped. Still chattering idly about the fine selection of Alderaanian silks in a small shop his mate worked in, the Dug pulled up, illegally no less, to the landing port closest to Qui-Gon quarters. As the master left, he noted a delivery permit in the taxi's front window, ensuring his driver would not get into trouble.

Every detail taken care of, and now it was over.

Every detail except one, but it was too soon for that. And too late.

He tried to tip the driver, but the Dug only handed him another tissue and drove off with what felt like a sympathetic expression. Qui-Gon could vaguely recall him talking about his young going off to school so perhaps there was more empathy there then he realized. His credit chip still in hand, he trudged inside, into the cool dim of the Temple and back to his rooms.

Home seemed a little less bright without his Obi-Wan to light the way, but that was probably just his self-pity at work.

With a sigh, he entered his rooms and hung up his cloak, feeling older than his master's master. Mace looked up at him, still working at his datapad on the couch where he had left him hours before. Qui-Gon settled on the couch and the councilor poured him a cup of tea.

"I take it Obi-Wan caught his transport?" the dark-skinned master asked after a long moment of scrutiny.

_cause I can't stop loving you_

Qui-Gon nodded. "He did. He should arrive as scheduled, barring any unforeseen difficulties." He voice was still quite rough, but the hot tea began to soothe his throat, if not his heart.

Mace looked at him harder, his fingers laced together in contemplation, his datapad forgotten. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

_I can't stop loving you_

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and lowered his tea cup to its saucer with shaking hands. "Of course not. He needs to be his own person, Mace. He is also, need I remind you, on a dangerous mission." Mace did not flinch, despite the sharp, accusatory tone. "He hardly needs the distraction of his pathetic old master mooning over him at home."

_no, I can't stop loving you_

Mace didn't say a word, but quietly sipped his tea and let the storm pass. After a long while, Qui-Gon picked up his own cup again, his sour throat tempting him to just spoon the honey directly into the pot and drink the whole thing.

"You don't have any idea when he'll be coming home again, do you?" he finally asked the councilor as he finished the cup and poured another.

"No," Mace sighed, his hands coming to rest on his thighs. "I'm sorry Qui-Gon, we don't."

Qui-Gon brought the tea to his lips and closed his eyes. The blend of scents and tastes reminded him of that moment, forever etched in his memory. That last moment when the light in his life clung to him fiercely. Warm steam and the honey's sweetness to ease the bitterness of the brewed leaves. A last memory to carry him through the days, or even the years to come. He never told him, but he couldn't make his love less true. His hands finally stopped shaking, and he took a sip.

_though I try_


End file.
